Wy-Naught
by PurveyorofPulchritude
Summary: Take a little look-see into the early life of Wylandriah, Witch of Riften. Series of fully-illustrated children's stories centered around Wylandriah and the 16 Daedric princes.
1. Wy-Naught and the Pear-You-Eat

**WY-NAUGHT**

**AND THE PEAR-YOU-EAT**

In which we meet the namesakes, and the Law is broken.

PDF Version: Never mind, this site is too smart for me. Suffice to say that this _is _illustrated and you can find it on the Bethesda forums, or at my deviantArt page (username dinmenel).

**D**eep in the Valenwood's cloud-shrouded bowels lived a girl by the call of why. Wy is what the forest called her, for the full Wylandriah was too cumbersome even for her Nana Nibblet, and why is what she called to the forest. Like the peek-a-boo mice of the moss-buried marbles you may sometimes find there, Wy was a forever-introductory creature. No one in the forest ever mistook her meandering rustle for anyone else's, for she announced herself wherever she went with her wondering song. It went something like this:

Why are there eyes, Mr. Is and Mrs. Must

if there are also lies, Syostree Zero, Syostree Zed?

Why are there starts, Mrs. Is and Mr. Must

if springs run hearts, Syostree Zed, Syostree Zero?

And why are there rules, Messrs. Won't, Madame Can't

if an empty girl sighs, Sisters Zetha, Sisters Zella?

Does that seem right to who?

Well, does it punk?

and so on and so forth like that.

Of course, that sort of behaviour would have had most of the forest taken up by the Law on a charge of Profaning the Wild with Rhetoric, but for Wy it mostly just scared away other young animals who might have been Friendly. Perhaps the other fauna didn't think it worth reporting, or perhaps the Law just couldn't decide whether or not where she had gone could be classified as Foreign.

Wy was singing this song in between juicy bites of tangerine, nestled in a mossy hemlock-root sofa by a giggling stream, when she turned eight and a monkey-boy wearing an imitation Colovian cravat and carrying a grumpy cat dropped down next to her out of the tree.

"You shouldn't be doing that," he said, and sprawled backward into the moss.

Wy threw a tangerine peel into the silly little stream. "Why is that, Samantha John? I like to sing songs. And not-songs."

"And you shouldn't be doing that," said Samantha John, which was, naturally, the monkey-boy's name. And of course he was not really a monkey but a nine-year old Imga. An Imga is a sort of intelligent ape, much like Man. "It wakes the owls." He petted the cat's head forcefully. The cat scowled out at the world.

The girl blinked at Samantha John through a puckerbrush of black curls. Then she said, "Have you seen any more ragamuffins nearby?" and began peeling another fruit.

"I don't know what that is," replied the boy smartly, "but it probably doesn't exist. And I meant that. You shouldn't be doing that." He pointed at the tangerine as she popped three pale orange sectors in her mouth and squelched them, squirting the juice out between her sharp little teeth.

"A ragamuffin," Wy began while still chewing, "is a sort of feline fairy or daedra. They don't have fur of their own, so they ambush Beasts and Animals and steal their coats with static voodoo."

"You're boiche," the boy continued. "You know boiche aren't supposed to eat fruit. It's against your Niche. You're in a raptorial tribe, you should eat, you know, cats and foxes and things." The cat in his lap hissed disapprovingly, narrowing its eyes at Wy. "Or honey," Samantha John went on, "I know you like honey."

Wy tossed another peel in the stream. "Of course, they aren't very popular. They make baby sounds up in the tops of trees and then drop on the worried parents and run off with their fur, which is quite sneaky. They only stop pretending to be other things after a big storm."

Samantha John squinted at her. "You know, the Law is going to come for you if you keep doing that. Do you want the face-snakes to find us? And what's special about big storms?"

"Silly Samantha John," Wy giggled. "It's because ragamuffins eat the lightnings, of course. And that makes everyone grateful. Until they start poaching furs again, anyway."

Samantha John stared at the serene little elf dubiously. Then he said, "That's not true. You made it up. I would have heard the Smokers talking about them if they were real."

Wy blinked at him. "So you haven't seen any more." Samantha John shook his head. "So why are you here, if you didn't bring me a ragamuffin of my own?"

"Because you sing so loud. And because I made Friends with this cat." He shoved the grumpy ball of ragged grey fur at the girl for petting, but the cat yowled loudly and twisted out of his oversized hands. It scrambled up his chest and hunched on his shoulders, glaring out at Wy.

"You stupid Tiny Creature," he said, baring his teeth at the cat. "I'm not going to let her eat you!" The cat hissed at him and batted his ear with a swift paw, and the two set to squabbling.

Meanwhile, a deep buzzing filled Wy's ears, like the sound of Dunmer busybodies whispering around corners, and an enormous black bee flew up the stream bed and honed in on the little girl. Furry as a young kitten and about the same size, the bee flew three circles around Wy's head as she popped another segment of fruit in her mouth, buzzed down to inspect the pile of unpeeled tangerines still in her lap, hovered near the tip of her nose for a few seconds as though memorizing her face, and then flew off downstream the way it had come. Wy waved goodbye amiably.

"Stop being so paranoid! She doesn't even care about her Niche. Look, she's still eating that fruit." The cat ignored the Imga boy, still baring its sharp teeth. "Fine! I give up!" He threw up his hands, then cocked his head suddenly. His enormous ears quivered. "What's that sound?" he asked.

The busybody buzzing had returned, but a hundred times louder. It was a palpable thing, humming in their bones and tickling their teeth. With it came a rhythmic thudding from downstream in the forest, beating a steady tattoo that shook droplets of water from the needles of the hemlock above them... and grew swiftly louder.

Wy laughed bubblingly as she stood up and shook out her tattered purple robes, sending the rest of her tangerines bobbing downstream.

"It's the sound of drums," she said.

"It looks like we're ready

to begin."

**T**he first trumpet blast contained many notes, and brought with it a thick fog of giant black bees, which swarmed around the two young animals and crawled ticklingly all over their bodies. The second blast contained only a few notes but ripped the needles from the branches overhanging the stream in its grumpy bluster. The third blast had only one note, and carried these words:

"STOP RIGHT THERE, CRIMINAL SCUM!"

Samantha John turned his bee-burdened head slowly to look at Wy. His ears quivered wildly with fright.

"Th-these are bramra bees," he said. Wy nodded happily.

The Imga boy closed his eyes with a little wimper. "I told you this would happen," he said, and then the massive head of a fully grown face-snake butted rudely into the scene.

A face-snake, if you don't know, is a sort of hereditary Lawyer of the forest, although they prefer to be known as oliphaunts. They keep the Statutes of the Stomach as laid down by the Living Law. This one had short ivory tusks carved like ornamented scroll cases and a large, aristocratic ruff made of honeycomb encircling its enormous grey face. It kept up a constant humming under its breath, and shifted its big flat feet to a steady beat.

"Remain motionless or you will be stung into submission!" it trumpeted.

"This is your fault," Samantha John said miserably. "I'm in trouble with the Law, and it's your fault."

"SILENCE," the face-snake blared in his face. "The trial is starting." The tip of its trunk snaked around and pulled out a stretch of hemp parchment from one of its tusks. Several bees flew over and began dancing across it.

"Proceedings of Case #312546. Accused: Wylandriah. Life cycle: Juvenile. Niche: Raptorial. Species: Bosmer. Crime: Niche Transgression, 3rd degree. Evidence: Paw-printed rind. Sentence: A good paddling." The prehensile trunk tore off the parchment and shoved it into Wy's tiny hand. It was covered in pictograms made of blood red wax, and summarized her trial. "This is your copy. Does the Accused have any Testimony prior to its transition to Sentenced status?"

"Yes," answered Wy sweetly. "I'm not."

The face-snake's wet black eyes blinked at her. "Not what?"

"Bosmer."

Samantha John gave her a Look. The oliphaunt gave her a Look. The cat gave her a Look. The bees gave her a Look.

"If you are not a Bosmer," said the oliphaunt dubiously, "then what are you?"

Wy shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"You speak amidst the bramra, so this must be Truth," the face-snake mused. "I am not trained in the regulations for this. This is a case for the Living Law itself."

And so the two young animals and their cat were hoisted onto the Lawyer's broad grey back by its trunk, and the black fog of bees hummed away into the forest,

destined for the marble Ring of Rhythm,

where face-snakes tend

the Living Law.

**F**loating through the clouded forest in a buzz of bees, the face-snake's humming song thrumming through them, Samantha John fretted and Wy wondered.

"We're going to be banished," the boy moaned, pulling at his ears. "Banished, Wy!"

"Oh, calm down," scoffed the little elf, lying on her belly on the oliphaunt's back. Samantha John's cat was perched on her back, making rumbly sounds in its chest.

"Do you know where we're going?" squeaked the Imga. "The same place carnivorous plants and lumberjills go! The Court of Law."

Wy tossed him a tart look. "Didn't you ever wonder why the face-snakes get to be the Law? Why not leopards, or lemurs? Or even leotards?"

"It's just the way it is," Samantha John exclaimed, and collapsed into a dejected slouch. "Asking why can't help us now."

"I overheard some disgruntled mail-boars saying it's because they're the only ones who know how to sing the bramra," Wy went on. "You know, with their little flute holes." She wiggled her fingers in front of her nose.

Samantha John groaned. Wy frowned. "They aren't really normal bees, you know. They don't have wings. See, they fly with these little hairs."

It was true. Instead of wings, the bees had tiny whirring propellers sticking out of their backs.

"I caught a few the other day to see how they work," Wy continued. Samantha John just sighed. "It was quite dangerous you know," the girl said, frowning harder at him. "These are blood bees. They make blood honey. From blood. And flowers."

"That's nice," he said.

"I could have died you know," Wy said sourly, getting more irritated. "I've heard that even face-snakes can be killed by their own bramra if they stop singing to them even for a little bit. They burrow into the brain and use the body as a walking hive." No response. Wy fell grumpily silent.

But they did not have long to pout. Only a few minutes later, the fog-clung trees parted, and the huge white marble walls of the face-snake city, splotched with vibrant green moss and bordered by a broad patch of packed bare earth, rose up in the mist.

"The Rhythm Ring," Samantha John moaned. "The Court of Law."

The face-snake city was located in a sudden depression in the forest, almost like a crater. From where they stood on the rim, they could see past the high walls and into the city itself, which was a tangled maze of collapsed arches, vine-clutched walls, and mossy marble statues. If there had ever been roads, they were long since covered in a thick blanket of fallen needles, the better for the soft feet of the many face-snakes that lumbered through its wild ways. And on every exposed surface there were the massive red-gold hives, and the monstrous black bees zooming hither and thither.

Wy smacked her lips together. "Do you think they could possibly eat all of that honey? Surely not."

The oliphaunt began to descend toward the city, and Samantha John slowly turned to look at Wy. His eyes were narrow and suspicious.

"You did it on purpose," he said slowly, understanding dawning. "You got us into this on purpose. This is a honey hunt!" Wy's face turned bright orange. "You could have just snuck in!" he shouted as the face-snake gathered speed, rocking them back and forth.

"You try getting through that on your own!" Wy yelled back, pointing at the city walls.

"They're just walls! Climb them!"

"Not those walls!" Wy replied. "The Rhythm Ring!"

"What are you -" began Samantha John, but as the oliphaunt stepped into the stretch of bare beaten down earth encircling the city, it became immediately clear what Wy meant.

It was very much like being thrown into a stampede, or into a deaf percussion section. The air pounded beat without sound down around them, felt in the bones and teeth and skin more than ears, as though giant invisible clappers were banging down on all sides, only just missing them as the face-snake stepped just in time. They grew closer and closer, stronger and stronger, shaking the skulls of the young animals more and more until...

... it stopped, quite suddenly, and they were underneath the city's mossy archway. The face-snake continued on as though nothing had happened. Behind them, the bare-packed stretch of orange earth betrayed itself only with a rhythmically pulsing shimmer in the air above.

"See?" said Wy. "They come here every time the moons are gone and stomp up a rock solid beat en masse! You try getting through that without a face-snake to step in time for you!"

Samantha John just shook his head to clear it of the thundering beat.

They were taken through the ruined city, under stalactites of honeycomb and past scattered boulder fields where legions of tawny peek-a-boo mice frolicked with infant oliphaunts. Face-snakes of all ages and sizes and genders bustled about with their fancy-schmancy ruffs and reams of scrolls, humming the lines of law into beeswax being.

At last they arrived at a long hall printed from columns of blood red wax and curtains of beaded jade. Liveried lemurs strutted about the needle-bed floor, sneering down their furry noses.

Their face-snake approached the far end of the hall reverently. An enormous marble dais was there, decorated with small wax sculptures of majestic oliphaunts. Many layers of beaded curtains hid the dais' occupant.

"Perspicacity," their face-snake said respectfully as it fell to its front knees, "I beg your assistance with a most unusual case."

From behind the curtains came a tired trumpet, harmonizing with the ever-present buzz. "What is the situation?"

"This girl, Perspicacity. She does not know her Niche, and so cannot consume."

After a long pause, the tired voice spoke again. "An empty child has passed beyond the Ring of Rhythm and into the circle of our watchful supremacy over wrong wilderness and wyrm. This is done. With her comes a normal boy, complete and content in himself." Wy shot a look at Samantha John. He certainly didn't look content to her. More like ready to cry with fright. "He will have need of allies, if he is to survive her. Therefore let them approach and look upon me. I will secure for him guidance from within. Let it be done."

"B-but Perspicacity," their face-snake stuttered, "what of their sight?"

A snorting trumpet stirred the curtains. "They are calves," the voice answered. "They will not be harmed. Let them approach the Living Law."

And so the face-snake lifted the two young animals from its back and the lemurs parted the tinkling curtains, and then, with the cat across her shoulders and Samantha John at her side, Wy stepped up onto the dais. The curtains clicked shut behind them.

Within reclined a celestial oliphaunt. Larger than a small house, his wrinkled black hide was spangled with glowing stars and shifting runes and the connections of constellations. Upon his domed brow burned the insignia of the sun, blacker than black, and bramra crawled and buzzed about his red-gold honeycomb crown. He was massive, majestic, and very, very old. Under his pearly white eyes, Wy felt just a teensy bit frightened for the first time that day.

She gulped before she spoke. "What are you going to do to us?"

"To your friend I shall do nothing," the Living Law replied. "He shall return home without repercussion from this day." Samantha John's mouth fell open. "But you, empty child," he continued, "you I know for what you really are. And what you are carries a heavy punishment of itself."

Wy scowled at him fiercely, but her hands tightened around her elbows with fear. "So say what you're going to do," she snapped.

The ancient oliphaunt pointed at her with its trunk. "I am going to make you what you are not," he said. "That which simply is."

The empty girl chewed her lip angrily for a few moments. Then she grinned with her sharp little teeth.

"Sorry punk," she said. "Got your conk!" And in a flash she had shoved two wax statuettes arm deep up the Living Law's trunk, and the song that had not ceased for over two thousand years fell silent.

Immediately, the buzz of the Living Law's hive became angry and harsh, and the bees began honing in on the oliphaunt's giant head.

"Time to go Samantha John!" Wy yelled as the ancient animal tossed its head, trying desperately to snort out a song past the softening wax in its snout. Behind them, the other face-snake trumpeted loudly. Wy grabbed Samantha John's hand and pulled him off the dais, and the two dashed out through the curtains, pursued by an angry oliphaunt Lawyer.

"What in the Jungle did you just do?" Samantha John yelled as they ran through the ruined city. "Are you insane? That was the Law you just conked!"

"Yep!" shouted Wy. "And it was fantastic."

Glancing over their shoulders, they saw that the first face-snake had been joined in the chase by four or five others who were all trumpeting madly, blowing blocks of marble into the air with the blasts and banging their scroll tusks against the ground.

"Hurry up!" Wy yelled, and pulled the Imga out into a field of mossy boulders tickled with scurrying golden mice squeaking confused "Peek-a-boo?"s at the dashing animals. The face-snakes pulled up short at the edge of the field, not wanting to trample the mice they all loved. Wy cackled triumphantly, but the ruse was not good enough. The face-snakes could not follow, but their bees definitely could. An angry black fog of bees zoomed quickly after them, buzzing at their butts.

"Wyyyyyyyy!" Samantha John moaned wildly. "Wy, the bramra are going to get us!"

But Wy giggled madly, yelling, "Nope nope nope!" as she whirled around, yanked the wild-eyed cat from her shoulders, and threw it straight into the oncoming swarm.

The cat yowled as it sailed into the angry bees. Samantha John gasped. The swarm boiled in place around the fallen cat - and then, quite suddenly, collapsed into a pathetic pile of bugs.

"W-what?" choked the boy.

Wy giggled. "We came prepared, Samantha John."

From out of the pile of wriggling bramra came the cat, strutting confidently toward them and looking quite pleased with itself. But instead of being grey and raggedy, it was quite wrinkled and naked, save for a few black bristles clinging to the end of its tail.

"It's a ragamuffin," said Samantha John numbly. And, matter-of-factly, the ragamuffin nodded its ugly head,

and jumped up to wrap its nudity

in the puckerbrush

of Wy's hair.

** "Y**ou are a very Naughty Animal."

Samantha John stood over Wy as she took another large bite of red-gold honeycomb. Her face was smeared with scarlet honey, and the ragamuffin purred happily atop her head.

"Did you hear me?" Samantha John said. "I said -"

"I am very Naught-y," finished Wy, spitting out the chewed-up wax. "You are quite right. Wy Naught. Have some of this comb, wot wot, why not? It tastes like the whole forest at once."

Samantha John stomped a foot. "You aren't even sorry!"

Wy went on, philosophically. "I think that must be what bees do, you know? Condense all the best parts of a place down into one delicious thing you can put in your mouth." She took another big bite, and chewed thoughtfully. The Imga threw up his hands and left the little elf to her feast.

As he wandered away into the tumbledown old city, he heard the sound of bramra bees growling nearby. At first he wanted to run back to the safety of the ragamuffin, thinking the oliphaunts had found them again, but something about the sound seemed different. So he went on, and, past a few slabs of marble, found the source of the sound.

It was an enormous black river of bees, flowing steadily in an enormous circle around what seemed to be a high-walled garden in the city's center. Strangely, although bees came and left the river constantly, they didn't seem to really do anything while they were there, aside from fly and buzz.

Samantha John should probably have just left it alone. He knew it. But one does not become friends with an elf like Wylandriah without acquiring some of her characteristics, at least when she herself wasn't around for him to react against. So Samantha John did not leave it alone, but instead ran to fetch his sticky-fingered friend.

"Well, they're clearly there to stop things getting in or out," said Wy matter-of-factly when she saw the river. "So therefore it's probably a prison, and we should go see who's inside." She set off, the ragamuffin's tail lashing out of the back of her head.

"What?" Samantha John exclaimed. "We can't go in a prison just like that!"

"Of course we can," the elf answered, tugging him along. "We have a ragamuffin."

So they did. The pair strode, half confidently, half reluctantly, out across the black river, and the ragamuffin's field of static voodoo spread to surround them, and all the bees that entered were shorn of their propeller hairs and fell to the ground harmlessly.

Inside the tall marble walls was a wild garden. There were many strange flowers and bushes and trees they had not seen before, some of which seemed to have teeth, and others of which were conducting a rather vigorous political debate about somebody named Arden Sul and his chances in the next Greymarch. There were odd-ish mushrooms with leaves bustling about, and the grape vines on the walls were making the music of an expert bell choir with their silver fruit.

The two young animals stepped forward onto a mound of moss just in front of the entrance. "This... doesn't look much like a prison," commented Samantha John. Suddenly the moss mound stood up, and they found themselves on the back of a photosynthetic tiger. It looked at them with cow eyes and said,

"Well, hello. Who are you then?"

Wy looked at Samantha John. Samantha John looked at Wy. Then she said, "Um, I'm... Wy?"

"Excellent," answered the tiger. "I'm the Mangy Vegan. Would you like some soybeans?" It held out a pawful of pods.

Wy blinked. "No thank you," she said politely.

The Vegan nodded. "You'll be here for the Pear-you-eat, then. All right, I'll take you." And without another word, the mossy tiger carried them away on its back.

"Here you are," it said when they had reached the center of the garden. "This is the Pear-you-eat." The two animals clambered down from his back.

Before them was an enormous dead tree with tangled roots and bark like Wy's hair. It was split down the middle as though by lightning, but in its remaining branches there was a tangled vine, and a single purple pear hung low from a branch, dripping violently blue juice down the trunk and onto the roots.

Samantha John peered into a gap between two roots. "... there's nothing down there," he said. "That juice just drips down into nothing." Wy looked too. He was quite right; there was nothing but void

and a steady stream of electric blue juice between the roots.

"So, um," said Wy, looking at the Mangy Vegan sitting calmly beside them. "What's all this then?"

The Vegan blinked at her. "It's the Pear-you-eat," he said, and padded off into the garden.

Wy looked at Samantha John. Samantha John looked at Wy. Then Wy shrugged, and started clambering up the tree's roots.

"What?!" exclaimed the Imga boy behind her, trying to hold her back by the hem of her tattered purple robes. "You can't actually do it!"

"Why not?!" yelled Wy, and shoved him to the ground. "I can do what I want. Don't try to stop me just because you're afraid to do anything anyone thinks is wrong." And she turned her back on him, climbed up the roots of the tree, and took a big juicy bite out of the pear.

"See?" she said, turning back to him with juice running down her sticky chin and tiny throat. "Nothing. Perfectly safe. Perfectly tasty. I might have another."

"You're mean," said Samantha John sulkily. Wy rolled her eyes and settled back into the tree's creases.

"What do you think this tree's name is?" she said after a while, running her fingers across the dried bark.

"You're not Bosmer, trees don't even have names for you," said Samantha John with his arms folded.

"Of course they do. You just never ask them." She peered closely into the grain, then pressed her pointed ear against the wood. "I think it's called Knot," she said. "Because it's so knotty, just like me."

"An excellent choice," said a silky new voice suddenly. "You are very observant for such a young animal." And as Wy scrambled backward, falling onto the ground, the pear began to turn, and she saw that it was in fact the head of a very large Wyrm knotted around the tree's dead branches, and that she had taken a bite out of its jaw.

"You - you - " she stammered, and then clutched at Samantha John.

"I am Mr. Pear-you-eat," the Wyrm replied. They stared at each other silently for a few minutes, the animals completely speechless. Then the Wyrm said, "You have a bee on your knee, Miss Wy."

Wy looked. It was true. One of the wingless bees had clung to her robes as they crossed the river and was wriggling helplessly there.

"It's quite scared, you know," the Wyrm went on. "Bramra cannot live long without their fur. She's going to die because of you."

Wy cringed. "Oh, dear. The poor thing. Here." She took the enormous bee carefully in her hands and brought it to her blue-stained mouth for a fat kiss.

"There," she said as she laid the juice-touched bee on Knot's woad-stained roots. "It's not much, but that's all anyone can do for you now."

She looked up at the Wyrm. "Is there - is there anything we can do for you, Mr. Pear-you-eat?"

The Wyrm grinned widely. "'Tis done," he said.

Suddenly they heard a distant trumpeting. "The face-snakes!" exclaimed Samantha John. "Are they coming for us?"

"Oh no," said the Wyrm silkily. "No no no. You see, the face-snakes tied me up here long, long ago when they conquered the original rulers of this city. They thought it better to imprison a portion of my power than to simply banish me. But now your wonderful friend here has broken their Living Law," he said. "Well, they know they can't keep me locked up long without him, so they think they'd better send me off for good. They're cutting Knot's connection to the void-anchor below now." He nodded to the gap in the roots, where nothingness stretched. "It's the only thing that keeps this garden in place."

Samantha John stared up at the Wyrm. "What are you?" he breathed.

The Wyrm hissed happily. "I'm the Pear-you-eat," he said, "and I change the Who of You."

The trumpeting came again, and the garden shook about them. "Not long now," said the Wyrm. "But do not fear, children. Knot may only have one system still functioning, but that is enough to save his saviors."

"What about you?" asked Wy.

"Me?" said the Wyrm. "Why Wy, I shall be banished. But do not worry. I am quite used to it. Mortals can't seem to get enough of the process."

The garden shook again, harder this time.

"Hold tight now, little animals," the Wyrm said. "It's time to fly." And the world smeared before their eyes.

When they awoke they were at the rim of the bowl containing the face-snake city, and the oliphaunts inside were still raising an enormous ruckus.

"Come on," said Samantha John, scrambling to his feet. "You have to get out of here. The Law is going to be after you like none other." He pulled Wy up, and the two vanished into the safety of the misty forest. But as they ran,

the venom of an eternal wyrm

worked in Wy's

tiny mouth.


	2. Wy-Naught and the Dreaming Bawn

**WY-NAUGHT**

**AND THE DREAMING BAWN**

In which Wy goes on a walk, and learns the Joy of it with images here: w w w . dropbox / s / 206221lbdnjyjco/WyNaughtandtheDreamingBawn . pdf

**H**ere is our empty Wy, crying hic, hic, hic beneath the brush. Behind here were three days and three nights of flight in a forest buzzing and beating the Harrying Hymns of angry face-snakes. The ragamuffin's static voodoo protected her from their bramra for a while, but eventually the Tiny Creature vanished on its own business, as cats – even daedric cats – will do. Samantha John tried to convince his friend to go home and get her Nana Nibblet to protect her, but Wy was just a titch too proud for that, and informed him of it quite sharply. And so the Imga, too, scampered off to safety. Hunted by the no-longer-Living Law, Wy hunted only a hideout.

But, as often happens in the depths of the Doldrums, it was the hideout that found her.

Between one sob and the next, a busybody landed on Wy's shaking shoulder. She turned her head, and stared into the edged eyes of a fat black bee. Immediately she gasped and flung it off – it was a bramra bee, slave-scout of the face-snakes, and would surely land her back in their prison city – or worse.

"Ohhhh, no, you'll never catch me!" she squeaked as she scrambled away through the bushes, "Not Wy, not Wy, not Wy!" Behind her, the bee made hasty chase. The two flashed through the misty morning forest, scattering flurries of dew. The deep hum of a face-snake hive-hub rose up before her, and Wy darted to one side. The buzzing rose up there, too, and she whirled off in the opposite direction – only to find that there, too, was the heavy sound of bramra, and to realize that she was surrounded. She ran anyway, not thinking any more, just running, just longing, just wanting out, away, not-here, and then…

… and then she tripped over an outstretched root. She spit out a mouthful of dirty leaves and looked up, but did not find the angry oliphaunt Lawyer she expected. Instead, before her stood Knot, the enormous dead tree she had found with Samantha John in the face-snake prison. But he didn't look quite so dead anymore. He still lacked leaves, but he was covered in busy bramra, and the horrible rent that split his trunk was partially repaired with amber honeycomb.

The bee that had chased her zoomed around in front of her, wiggling its butt smugly. A clump of other bees flew over, and together they spelled these words in the air:

**WY SO CLUMSIEST?**

Wy stared for a second. Then she jumped up and ran, laughing like crazy, to throw her arms around the giant tree in a big hug. The hairy bark thrilled to her like skin, and the bees tickled tenderly in her puckerbrush hair.

"Oh Knot, Knot, I was so afraid!" Wy babbled as she pulled back. "The oliphaunts are after me and Samantha John is gone and the ragamuffin is gone and I haven't eaten in three days and I'm so glad to see you!" She hugged him again. A bee buzzed insistently by her pointed ear, and she looked over to see that a group had spelled out another word: EAT. Honey dripped down Knot's trunk from their hive, thick and golden and glowing. So Wy gave the tree a fat kiss and licked the sweet sap from his trunk and ate of the hive's stocks until her silly old tummy was quite full up. Then she sat back and sighed.

Suddenly a great thundering rhythm pounded in the forest. The full-up-empty girl stiffened in alarm.

"That was a Lawyer," she said tensely. The sound beat steadily closer, shaking dew from the trees around them. "They're coming, Knot, they're really coming this time! What are we going to do?"

The bees brewed hesitantly for a moment. Then they spelled:

GET IN

Wy cocked her head. The bramra fled eagerly into their honeycomb, beckoning Wy after them. It hardly looked like a place she could enter, but the rhythm grew ever louder. The ground beneath her quivered in fear. And so the tiny elf shrugged, and dived into the hexagonal streams of honey.

And Knot's sweet xylem smear

dissolved her

away.

**K**not spit her out into a big pile of cold wet. Above, a velvety night sky grinned down at her through the teeth of a too-big moon. It curled its horns around a blue-green twinkle among the stars and said you are definitely, definitely not in the Valenwood anymore.

Wy gathered up a handful of the cold wet and sat up. "What's this, what's this?" she sang quietly to herself, and got to her freezing feet. Knot was still there, at least, standing with her in the clearing of a strange, dark forest, colder and emptier and more pointless than any she had ever known. "There's white stuff everywhere, Knot," she trilled anxiously. "What is it?"

A cloud of bramra spelled out: FROZEN JOY and then: TA TA FOR NOW.

"What? Where are you going?" cried Wy, but Knot did not listen. In less than a blink, the tree's cloud of bees had diffused away into the forbidding forest, leaving Wy alone in the frozen Joy.

The young animal crossed her arms and harrumphed. "See if I kiss you again," she said, and set about surveying the land. On all sides was the frozen Joy and the forbidding forest, its needled branches bowed low by snow. Only the weeping wind made any sound, howling through the pointed treetops like a grieving mother.

Wy harrumphed again, and cupped her tiny paws around her mouth. "Is there anybody out there?! Somebody sing hello, hello, hello! Somebody come help Wy, Wy, Wy!" Her words echoed back at her against the dome of night. And, true to form, her wondering song rustled up the forest. A single snowy owl took flight from a tree ahead of her, scattering Joy as dust on the wind… and, behind her, a chorus of eager howls sliced the night.

Wy may not have been in that forest before, but that was quite enough for her to know which way the wind was blowing. So she did what anyone would have done: she concentrated on not losing her head, and on finding her feet. She found them nearly as frozen as the Joy, for she had no shoes. She frowned a moment, thinking. And then, of course, she did what no one would have done – she plunged each foot into Knot's golden honey. Congealing in the cold, it formed a sappy, flexible sole.

And, warmed by the sweetest of socks,

Wy sallied forth

to the forest.

**T**he owl was nowhere to be found, and the howling of the wolf gang sang sharp on the wind, but Wy stopped anyway when she found the lamp post. It was silver, and stuck halfway out of the frozen Joy. Its lamp was scraped vellum, which is a kind of skin, and lit from within by wriggling green glow worms. Others just like it marched off two by two between the trees, spreading pools of eerie light.

"Why Wy," the girl said to herself, "it's very like a buried path."

"Oh, much astute," said a woman's voice. "Very insight. And not redundant at all." The speaker was a large black and white Beast, like a horse but with a strangely shaped head, a silver horn, and nine fluffy fox tails. She loomed above Wy from a snowbank across the way, her stomach clammering with sarcasm.

"Hello," said Wy. "Who are you?"

"Don't you know?" replied the Beast, and sat back on her haunches.

"Some kind of Prey Beast, I expect," answered Wy, "but no, I don't know."

The Beast snickered. "Not very good, are you? One-love."

Wy frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Aren't we playing at Questions?" replied the Beast.

"What kind of game is that?"

"One you ought to know, with that name."

Wy showed her sharp little teeth. "One-one. So what are you called?"

A great growl came from the Beast's belly. "Drat," she said, and scowled at the girl. In the distance, the wolf gang howled again. The Beast's head jerked up.

"How far do you think they are?" she asked.

"Maybe twelve pages," Wy said with a shrug. "Are they after you?"

"Two-one, but shouldn't we finish this later?" The great white Beast was on her feet, pawing at the ground nervously.

"Maybe if you'll take me with you," said Wy, and immediately stomped her honeyed heel in frustration. "Will you take me with you, I meant!"

But the Beast had already vanished away into the forest, leaving only a few last jabs hanging in the air.

"Isn't that the game?" she cried. "But, oh, how should you know? Let's rematch at the Bawn!" Her voice drifted off into the wind.

"The Bawn?" said Wy to herself. "What did she mean by that?" She wasn't sure she wanted a rematch anyway; the Beast had been a bit of a snot. The wolf gang howled again, so she put away her wonderings and hurried on.

A short distance away, around a bend in the path, she found an Object. It was a large brass statue of an eight-legged centaur with a chain-link beard. One arm ended in a bladeless hilt, and the other in a long pole capped with a buttery neon light. Its face was turned up to the stars.

Suddenly the Object spoke, and Wy jumped. "Nirn is bright tonight," it said, and stamped five of its metal hooves.

Wy braced herself, determined to win the game this time.

"Who are you?" she asked abruptly.

The statue looked down at her, one of its eyes telescoping in to get a better view. It answered in a flat, mechanical voice.

"I am I, the Pelin-Ur," it said. "Lone Centurion, Horse-Made Knight. Who are you?"

"Wy, don't you know?" the girl replied. The Centurion cocked its head 45 degrees to the side. Then a gear clicked loudly in its head, and it bent sharply down to stare into Wy's eyes.

"You've seen her, haven't you?! Which way did she go? Tell me now!" it screeched harshly.

"I don't know!" shrieked Wy. "Leave me alone!"

The Centurion's eye shutters snapped open and closed. Then it backed away sharply. "Apologies," it said. "My programming overcomes me at times. My Master was very into the Hunt."

"Was your Master a Dwarf?" asked Wy. "And what are you hunting?"

"He was Dwemer, yes," the metal knight replied.

"He made me to Course the prey, and then to bring it down when he no longer could. I had a sword for that once, you know, whiter than snow, but I lost it here long ago." A puff of steam escaped his ear like a sigh.

"But what are you hunting?" Wy prompted again.

"Hunting?" said the Knight. "Oh, many things, many things. Everyone here is. My Master, my sword, and – ah. Her. The Beast Gladosant. You've met her, haven't you?"

"If she's a big Questioning Beast, yes," answered Wy.

"I thought as much. She tends to infect meat-bags like you."

The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Then Wy asked, "Why do you hunt her?"

The Centurion rolled its shoulders. "Oh, you know. She'd get lonely if I didn't. She's a Questioning Beast. She needs to be chased after, and I need to chase. It works out."

"But what are you hunting, honey heels?" the Centurion wondered flatly. "I haven't seen you in the Course before."

Wy shifted uncertainly. "Um – an owl, I suppose. I'm sort of just questing to quest."

"After the Urim, then," replied the Knight, and jerked an approving nod. "Well, I should really be getting on after the old girl, but I expect we'll meet again at the Bawn. Cheerio! Oh, and I did see Owl Urim fly through not so long ago!" it yelled flatly as its eight legs galloped clunkily off, frothing frozen Joy. "Toward the mountains! There's a sort of Faire in the foothills if you need a guide! Good hunting! As for me - onward to Glados I go, oh whithersoever she goes! Tally ho!" And the Lone Centurion was gone, leaving Wy alone once more at a crossroads of Courses.

"I might as well not bother talking," she grumbled to herself, and contemplated turning back toward Knot.

But the wolf gang's glee

harried her on

in the Hunt.

**T**he Faire, when she found it, was really more of a Thoroughfare. The Joy had been trampled down into muddy slush, exposing the dirty gravel path between the lines of lamps marching on up into the icy mountains. Along the way were many skewed tents and ramshackle shanties, cobbled together from raw logs and mud, and to one side a little stream trickled through wooden waterwheels and sluices. Warm orange light dripped from the chinks of the buildings along with hearty shouts and laughter, but the only person still outside was a dark robed figure hunched up by the stream. Wy hurried over.

"Hello," she said, and decided to dispense with introductions. "What are you looking for?"

The figure raised its hooded head to look at her. It was a blue-eyed young man, and he was hunched over a large telescope pointed at the sky. His large white feet were bare, and completely submerged in the stream.

"For the Truth," he answered amiably. "Also called CHIM. How about you?"

"For an owl – also called Urim, I guess," Wy replied. "You think you'll find Truth in the stars?"

The young man nodded as he squinted through his scope once again. "Most certainly I do. And, one day, I hope to make port in that coldest of harbors."

Wy's eyebrows jumped about quite of their own doing, but she nodded politely. "What's all this then?" She waved around at the various sluices, pans, sieves, and magnets lying scattered about the streambed.

"This? Sifting paraphernalia, of course. I don't do much of it myself, but sifting is pretty much the whole reason for Peart's Path to exist at all."

Wy cocked her head. "What are you sifting for? Gold?"

The man guffawed loudly. "Gold?! What do these men want with gold? No, lass, no, it's silver the gents in Peart's Path are after. Gold," he chuckled to himself. "What use is gold here? As barmy as Dodok."

Wy frowned, but held back a snide reply. "Aren't your feet cold?" she asked instead.

"My feet?" the man said, bewildered, and looked down. "Oh, Hunter's Hoof, but I didn't even realize. What good are you as a Nord if you can't chock up a little snow or ice, eh? We're hardy folk. But you, now," he went on, peering closely down at her, "you look like you could do with a bit of fire and hot mead."

He was quite right. Wy was hardier than she had any right to be, but she was still nearly a candle of winter by that point. And so the young Nord packed up his scope, picked up the little elf, and carried her into the warm Mud Pub of Peart's Path.

Inside was all loud and crowd, sweet pipe smoke and roaring laughter. Bush-bearded men were cramped into every cranny and corner, tossing dice and cards and guzzling black horns of mead. A grey-grizzled Dunmer hung in a silver cage overhead, belting out a gravelly rendition of 'The Hero of the Cantons, the Elf they call Vehk' over and under it all.

"Let's find Dodok!" the Nord yelled in Wy's ear. "You two should get along! He likes gold too much too!" He carried her through the crowd, dodging flying platters and lines of lumberjacks getting jiggy with it, and finally plopped her down in a seat at an uneven round table covered with coins and cards.

"Dodok," he said as he took the seat next to her, "meet our newest citizen!"

From out of the smoke swam a squished face, nearly swallowed by wiry red hair and beard. A little male person was sitting next to her in a hightop chair, smaller than she but fully grown and thickly muscled. He clenched a rough pipe in his white teeth, shooting his eyes bloody with the smoke.

"What, a newcomer?" he exclaimed when he saw Wy. "EXCELLENT. I love newcomers. Fetch this lass some gear, laddies, and deal her in! Mead – er, well, a jot of buttered cider, at least! Go on, go on, get to!" He started the rush of redecoration by shoving his pipe in her mouth, clapping her happily on the back when she choked on the smoke. By the time the table was done donating gear, Wy had a patched felt hat, a heavy leather jacket, and a flagon of cider. Warmed through to her toes, she decided she quite liked this little dwarf man already.

"Now, I'm Dodok Nokomlikot, Alchemist," he said. "How're you called, eh gehly, and what're you after?"

Wy puffed smoke through the pipe. "I'm Wy," she said, "and I'm looking for an owl – and a blade, maybe."

"An owl and a maybe-blade, eh?" said the squished man. "Well we've neither here, but yeh're welcome to join us just as long as you like, be it the night or the nine!"

"Wax your jaws later, Dodok!" barked one of the men at the table. "We've matches to win against you!"

"We'll see, we'll see shortly enough, but let me instruct the young lassie in our play first, eh? Then you'll have your chance and more." He spread out Wy's cards, pointing out the different classes and monsters and inversions – it seemed to be the deck of a High Rock sorcerer – and before long Wy was caught up in the swirl of the cards just as much as the rest of the pub. It was a game in three parts – Course, Drive, and Kill – and at first she didn't win many tricks. But by the time the game had wound down and the rest of the table had moved on to easier opponents, the little elf had a tidy pile of silver before her and an indebted dwarf by her side.

"Well," harrumphed Dodok as the young Nord laughed into his mead. "Clearly, my prime directive should have kicked in a bit earlier this night."

"Your prime directive?" asked Wy, stacking her silver hoard gleefully.

"In cards, anyway," replied the squished man. "When they start beating me, I stop teaching. But, take win or lose as they come. I'll have to go to my lab to pay you all, though," he added, a bit sourly.

Wy giggled, and petted his beard. "There's no point, Nokomlikot. I can't carry all this anyway. Why don't you two split it?"

The little man brightened immediately. "And call the debt null?"

Wy mused. "Hmmm. How about… you owe me a silver-white blade, if you ever find one. And I keep this pipe." She waved it at him.

"A silver-white blade if I ever find one, eh?" answered Dodok shrewdly, rubbing his beard. "All right. Shall we shake on it?" He spat into his pudgy little palm.

"Yes, very good!" laughed Wy, and spit into her own hand. But the squished man did not shake. He only stared, and whispered,

"Witch-spit."

And in the Mud Pub's sudden hush

Wy's harmless hand

gleamed blue.

**H**oney heels cold on frozen Joy once more, Wy interrogated Dodok.

"What's so bad about Witch-spit?" she asked as they trudged between the glowworm lamps up into the mountains. "Why'd they kick me out?"

"Nothing… really," answered the little man. "It just means you're a Witch. With a capital."

"I don't know any spells." Wy frowned.

"Doesn't matter. You will. And it's not that we don't approve, it's just… even though we live here now, we still have some leftover fears."

"Leftover from where?"

The squished man pointed up to the little blue-green speck caught between the horns of the moon.

"There," he said. "Nirn." And to that, Wy had no response.

"But more important than our frights," the little man went on after a moment, "is that, if you're a Witch, you're also a Candidate for the Hunt." Behind them, the cries of the wolf gang rose up in force. Wy shivered.

"A Prey candidate?" she asked nervously.

"Dodok chuckled. "No, no, don't worry. A Huntsman Candidate. The Prey is already chosen: the Questioning Beast, as always."

"Who chooses?"

"Well, the Predators – that's them, the wolf gang back there – choose the Prey, and the Prey Beasts choose the Huntsman. So that's who we're going to see."

Wy just nodded, and they continued along their path of frozen Joy.

They were well into the mountains, the forest thickened moodily around them, but they had only gone on a few more minutes before Wy's curiosity got back to her mouth.

"Are you actually a dwarf, Dodok?"

The little man guffawed heartily. "I was wondering how long it would take ye, gehly. Yes, I'm really a dwarf."

"But… you don't have the – uh – ears. And I thought they were normal sized."

He scowled at her. "I am normal sized for me! You're the gussilopes around here. But no, I ain't an elf by any means. Haven't you ever heard of a goblin?"

"Yes," she answered, "but you don't look like one."

"Of course I don't, 'cause I ain't one! But I am what you'd get if you could shove one through a mirror. Haven't you ever wondered what happens to Men that get too caught up in themselves, too greedy and grabby, helping others build up defenses, aye, but bouncing before the storm breaks out its fury? Well, have ye or haven't ye, I'm the answer. And don't think it says nothing about my kind – it don't. We're as good as any of ye, for who doesn't have a shameful ancestor or two? No one, so don't come at me about mine."

"I think you're grand, Dodok," said Wy gently. Dodok grinned at her, white teeth bright in the moonlight.

"I never asked before," she went on, "but what are you looking for?"

"Me?" said Dodok, and blushed bright red. "Well – transformation. Dust to gold, dwarf to man. But really, more than that I'd like a compani-" But at that moment, a large snowy bundle crashed onto the path, smooshing the dwarf into the snow and rolling to a loud stop against a tree.

"You clumsy nincompoop!" the dwarf yelled, muffled beneath the snow. His head popped back up, but before he could get to his feet the enormous bundle had unfolded into an adult moon bear and trampled him back down. Roaring loudly, the scarlet-breasted bear bore down on Wy. Its yellow teeth flashed in the night.

"You idiot!" came Dodok's muffled voice. The bear snarled and snapped at the little elf. Wy stumbled and fell, and the bear loomed above her. "The nose, Wy, the nose!" shouted Dodok. The bear lowered its head. And, desperately, Wy kicked it in the nose with her honeyed heel.

It fell back on its rump, shaking its head in woozlement. Then its eyes focused on Wy's feet, and, with a little grin, it began to lick away the sweetness of her socks.

"Wy," said Dodok, stomping through the snow to help her up, his whole body white, "meet Peart."

"How do you do?" said the bear politely, and slurped at her toes.

"How do you do?" replied Wy. "What are you looking for?"

"Oh, to break my fast on honeydew instead of honey," answered the bear sadly, lapping up the last of her socks. "Not that honey is bad, of course.

"This lout is the namesake of the Path, Wy," said Dodok, punching the bear in the elbow. "He's been searching longer than any of us, and he's nice enough when he's not completely blind."

Wy giggled as the bear frowned down at the tiny man.

"Any way, now that you're here, can you lift us up to the Meese-Moot?" asked Dodok. "Wy here is a Candidate."

"The Meese-Moot?" mused the moon bear. "Well, all right. I suppose we're all headed to the Bawn anyway." And before Wy could ask once again about the Bawn, the bear had picked her up by the neck of her robe and seated her on his back, and the three Seekers scudded away up the mountain.

Peart carried the two far more quickly than they could have walked, loping easily through the trees, and it was not long at all before the frozen crags of the mountain peaks hung just overhead, fanged caves yawning. He took them to a small lake nestled between two slopes, where five fat moose stood thigh deep in the icy water.

"Who are you then?" said one of them as they climbed off Peart's back.

"I'm Dodok Nokomlikot, Alchemist," answered the dwarf. "And this is Wy, a Candidate."

"A Candidate?" another moose said. "She doesn't look like much."

"Who are you to say?" asked Wy crossly.

A third moose peered down its snout at her. "We," it said snootily, "are the Meese-Moot."

"We're the moose who say meese," added the fourth, drily.

"Pray tell us Prey Beasts what recommends this one as a Candidate, Alchemist," said the fifth, smacking its lips.

Dodok straightened his smock. "She's got Witch-spit, your Preyness."

"Witch-spit, is it?" said the first. "How did you get that?"

Wy shrugged. "From a pear, I guess."

The Meese-Moot stared at her. "From a pear," said the third. "Well, I suppose that's as good as anywhere."

"We have no other Candidates," said the second. "So I vote yay." The others chorused their agreement. "Very good," said the fourth. "You are now our Huntsman."

"I am?" Wy asked in bewilderment. "Don't I get a say?"

"No," answered the first. "We are the Meese-Moot, and we choose the Huntsman. We serve the Demon Elk as His Prey Beasts, as the Wolf-Gang serves as His Hounds, and as you will serve as His Head."

"But the Hounds are not here," said Dodok, before Wy could protest again. "Nor the Questioning Beast."

"This is of no matter," said the Meese-Moot in unison. "We shall call them hence."

The five moose threw back their heads and beat the night with their wheezing bellows, and from the winds slipped the great gang of wolves, Joy-furred and red-mouthed and pink-eyed, leaving no prints upon the snow in their anxious pacing.

From the depths of the Meese-Moot's swamp was dredged the golden skull of the Huntsman, and with its dripping horns Wy was crowned and set high upon the back of the scarlet-breasted bear. On the crags above, the sarcasm-calls of their Prey rang forth, harried by clanks and whirs.

And the moon tossed its horns

as the Huntsman

gave chase.

**Q**uartering the crystal tundra and harrowing the lonely taiga, the Hunt poured out from every den of the Realm and pounded up Peart's Path to their Huntsman. Eagles flew and griffons flew and lions made way for honeyed badgers, and Wy raced forth on her moon bear, crowned with the golden skull of an elk. Ahead ran the whirlwind wolf gang, leaping their vicious glee. The Questioning Beast taunted them with near-catches and snide asides, but bit by bit they drove her ever higher into the mountaintops, until at last she took refuge in the highest caves of ice, where the Hunt became lost and confused.

In the echoing clamor of howls and growls, Wy wandered aimlessly with Peart, separated from her hounds in the frozen labyrinth.

"Well," she said, "this isn't the best."

In the distance, a chorus of yips rang out, and with it the voice of the Questioning Beast. "I feel fantastic and I'm still alive!"

"No, no it isn't," agreed the bear beneath her. "But on the other paw, these caves are tickling something in me. Didn't I take a clue about caves of ice from some ancient book or other?"

"Did you hear that?" Wy interrupted. There had been a sound like a clanking snap."What was it called, now?" the bear mused on, paying no attention. "Grammar? Grammary? Gramarye? Oh dear, I do –" But just then a figured clattered into the chamber.

"Oh, hello again," it said. "Did you find Owl Urim yet?"

It was the Centurion again, lighting up the cave with its neon staff.

"I didn't," said Wy, "but I'm on a different Hunt now."

The Centurion snapped its shutters at her. "Wy dear," it said, "there's only one Hunt. And we all join in, in our way."

"Well, anyway," Wy pressed on, "have you seen the Questioning Beast lately?"

"No," answered the Centurion. "I chased her in here, but she swiftly lost me."

"Drat," said Wy. "Do you think-"

"Huntsman," came a small voice suddenly. "I know this may not be the best time to make good on debts, but I found –"

Dodok cut short as he looked up into the brass glory of the Centaur Centurion. The Centurion stared back at the pure white blade in Dodok's hands.

"Dodok," said Wy, "I think that belongs to him."

So Dodok held up the blade, and the Centurion held out his stump of a hilt, and the two clicked together in the caves.

"Do you know," said the Knight, twirling its new-old blade before its shutters. "I feel quite… directed."

And without another word, it swept Dodok up onto its back and galloped off into the caves, Seeking Sword thrust ahead. Wy gave a great whoop, and went gallumphing after.

The Centurion lead them unerringly back to the clamor of the Hunt, and then to the heels of the Questioning Beast. Her teases and tricks could not avail her against the Centurion and his Sword, and she retreated before them, growing desperate and silent save for her hoarse panting. She wove them hither and thither through the caves of ice, until at last she led them out the other side of the mountain, where an endless chasm cuddled a swirling snowstorm.

She laughed madly as she leaped across it, thinking herself safe.

But, "Strike, Centurion!" shouted Wy. "Very roughly!"

The Seeking Sword shot from the Centurion's arm, anchored by chain.

"And when I'm flying I'll be still ali-"

But the albino blade

cleaved the breast

of the Beast.

**T**he Centurion's chain hung taut across the chasm, a ready bridge for the nimble-fingered wolf gang. A minute of cold wind later, a drawbridge of ice fell down out of the snowstorm and three pale elves in thick fur mantles walked out. Behind them, the storm cleared to reveal a magnificent castle of ice and auroras.

"We represent the Wolf Gang," said one of the pale elves, and grinned a meat-red grin. "We welcome you to the Dreaming Bawn." She turned around and led them across the bridge. By the gates of the Bawn hung the Questioning Beast, impaled on the Seeking Sword and dripping thick blood down the wall.

Wy hung her suddenly heavy head, and before the Prey the Hunt bowed low. When their tribute was done, the Centaur Centurion retrieved his sword, and the wolf gang elves carried the Beast ahead into the Bawn's Great Hall. At the end of the chamber was a massive throne where a headless man of oak sat waiting, a bitter spear in one clawed hand. The wolf gang laid the Questioning Beast before him, and the Hunt shifted its feet nervously.

Then the man stood, and pounded his spear against the ice. "The Hunt is here!" he shouted, and his voice rang out like a horn. "The Prey is brought down. Well done, my Huntsman." He touched Wy's shoulder. "But I will have my Head back now." He plucked the golden skull from her head and seated it on his neck. "And now, we feast!"

The Hunt gave out a great "Huzzah!" and then the party really got started. Great fires were lit and soft hides laid out across the floor, and the wolf gang broke out the Bawn's larders, scattering sweets of all colors over the crowd. The griffons caroused and the badgers two-stepped and the Men of the Path sang sad, eerie songs. Honeydew was found for the hunger of Peart, and the Hunter himself carved the roast Beast Gladosant.

And when they had all had their fill of food and drink and fun, all gathered round the Hunter's throne and shared of one secret longing. All except the wolf gang, of course, who were snoring loudly around the hall, their mouths smeared with candy and blood – for they scorned cooked meat, as Falmer will do. But everyone else shared one of their lost dreams, and it was very solemn and sad. When it came Wy's turn, though, she didn't know what to say.

The Hunter took her in his lap, and told her to take her time.

Wy wondered. "Can I ask questions?" she asked.

"Clearly," the oak man chuckled, "But yes, you may."

"Good. Who are you, then?"

"I am Hircine the Hunter, Demon Elk and Father of Manbeasts, Prince of this Realm."

"And do you live here?"

"This is one of my halls, yes," he answered. "The Falmer – my wolf gang – built this place for their own use, and I made it one of my Lodges. It is outpost, hideout, and gate to greater paths all at once."

Wy nodded. "And are they werewolves?" she asked after a moment, pointing at the sleeping elves.

"Yes, Wy, they are werewolves."

She kicked her feet. "So… why was everyone saying they would meet me here?"

Hircine chuckled again. "Because this is where all hunts end, Wy. When the prey has reach the point of desperation, clawing forward with no hope in its heart, the Bawn opens its gates. When the hunter quarters ever on, finding nothing but hunting anyway, striving, longing, wanting, straining against the world, then the Dreaming Bawn embraces. This is our annual seat of solace, Wy, where we share – not the spoils of the hunt, although this year you have broken precedent and given us that too – but the dreams and longing behind the hunt."

He fell silent, and only the crack of flames filled the hall. A long moment later, he asked gently, "Do you know what you long for?"

"Yes," answered Wy, and cried quietly, Joy unfrozen. "I wish the Gladosant weren't dead."

Hircine wrapped his arms around her. "I am glad of't. All honour to the Prey."

"And… I miss Knot," Wy went on, hiccuping. "Do you know where he is?"

"I do, Wy, I do." And Hircine stood, and carried Wy to the gates of the Bawn – and there Knot waited, buzzing happily before her.

Wy jumped out of the Demon Elk's arms and ran to him, hugging his trunk tightly.

"Oh Wy," called the Hunter. "Before you go, I have a little gift for you. I believe you were hunting a certain bird?" He held out a tiny silver owl, and from Knot's branches came a smug hoot. "This is the Urim. It is yours."

"Thank you!" exclaimed Wy, and ran back to take the owl from his oaken fingers. "Well – goodbye!" she called, and stepped half-in half-out of Knot's sweet door.

"Happy Dreaming to all!" called Hircine and his Hunt from the light-kissed Bawn. "And to all a good Hunt!"

"Time to go home, Knot," said honey-held Wy.

and with that, the night dissolved

to Nana.


End file.
